The Artist
by waterflower20
Summary: Hermione gets an unexpected present for her 30th birthday. Draco Malfoy, Wizarding Europe's most celebrated artist, is hired to paint her portrait. EWE, set more than a decade after the war and is obviously AU.
1. Part I

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own anything you recognise.

**A/N:** This is my dramione-duet entry.

**Kinks: **_Attraction, romance, unresolved sexual tension, passion, tenderness, banter, humour, some angst is fine. Intensity of emotion, whatever the emotion, is a plus. I like two strong personalities clashing. Happy ending not required but if you go unhappy, please make it make sense within the story. Must admit I have a softness for arrogant, confident, proud Draco being gobsmacked by love._

**Squicks: **_Infidelity, Ron or __Harry bashing, weak or whiny Draco or Hermione, Makeover(Slutty)Hermione. __A prejudiced Draco is unworthy of Hermione's love._

**Prompts: **_**1. **__A simple, secret act of kindness (or sacrifice) changes everything. __**2. **__Narcissa Malfoy and Molly Weasley become unlikely friends and then matchmakers, convinced that Draco and Hermione would make the perfect couple, despite the fact that they appear to hate each other. After all, appearances can be deceiving. __**3.**__ Draco has become a celebrated painter or photographer (Creevy connection?). He is hired to create Hermione's portrait (for her Chocolate Frog card or for a future living portrait or perhaps even for sexy, boudoir art). What happens in the privacy of the studio stays in the privacy of the studio – or does it?_

The story is complete and I'll be posting weekly.

Hope you'll like it.

_**The Artist**_

_**Part I**_

"You must be joking."

Narcissa eyed her only son with perfectly veiled amusement as she timidly sipped from her ceramic tea cup. Daintily she placed the cup on its saucer and picked a cucumber sandwich to nibble on until he managed to gather his scattered thoughts.

It wasn't often she had the pleasure of seeing her twenty-nine year old son splutter in a mixture of indignation and stubborn denial.

It was also not often she placed such a demand on him.

"I get you are friends with Weasel-"

"His name is Ronald, Draco. Honestly you are not a kid any more." She softly admonished with a frown.

Draco's light grey eyes rolled as he fought off a sneer. His mother had made the transition to this new, tolerant society with her usual grace and adaptability while he and his father were left struggling to adjust to a world where blood purity meant nothing if you hadn't much else to offer the community. They couldn't bribe their way to society's good graces after their involvement in the war, and not out of lack of trying either.

So Narcissa did what she does best; damage control. And an embark on a long, strenuous campaign to show the wizarding world the Malfoys would survive and come up where they rightfully belonged; the top.

Of course in this day the top included people like the Weasleys, Potter and Muggleborns.

It _burn_ to think his family was saved by none other than the boy Draco hated with all his heart. If Potter hadn't testified in his family's favour, chances were the Malfoys wouldn't have come out the trials unscathed.

Potter was the one who bargained with Lucius to help them round up the remaining Death Eaters and provide additional information to lock up the rest for good; not that the man wasn't willing but as a true Slytherin, Lucius only agreed to cooperate when he was assured he'd be fully pardoned.

But thanks to Narcissa's machinations and the plethora of fund raisers and charity events she planned and hosted annually, the family had regained their social standing and were once again considered amongst the most influential families in magical England.

It was common knowledge among the Malfoys' social circle that since the war, Lucius only publicly acted as the head of the house; privately Narcissa took all important decisions and he was forced to follow them. His past mistakes were forgiven, not forgotten; and Draco's brilliant mother refused to let Lucius' bigotry and sullen acceptance of this new world order destroy what she had painstakingly built this past decade.

She refused to let him dictate their lives any longer and went to great lengths to offer her only child a chance for a new beginning.

Narcissa was the one who pushed Draco to return to Hogwarts and finish his final year when Headmistress McGonagall personally arrived to Malfoy Manor to deliver his letter.

Narcissa was the one who encouraged him to pursue his childhood dream of becoming an artist when the summer after his graduation she found his sketchbook hidden under his pillow.

Narcissa was the one who had bellowed at Lucius that he had done enough when he spitefully called Draco a disgrace to the family name and forbade him to go to art school. He had already destroyed Draco's childhood; she refused to allow him to dictate how Draco would live his life as well. If Lucius disagreed, he had no place in their family.

Narcissa was the one who came to his first exhibit and bought his first painting; a portrait of a blonde woman reading to a small child. She knew this was his thank you for everything she had done for him. She had proudly hang it above the fireplace in her favourite drawing room where she spend most of her afternoons.

That was the room Draco was currently sitting in; fists clenched and lips set in a firm line.

"Forgive my language, mother." He stiffly said. "But what you are asking-"

"A favour. I'm asking my _son _a favour."

"You are asking me to paint mudblood Granger!" He bellowed, loosing his tight grip on his control.

"Draco!" Narcissa snapped, equally furious. "Watch your tongue! I won't have you of all people uttering that foul word! Not after everything we've been through! Everything we have _lost_!"

Draco averted his gaze, sulking like a petulant child.

"It's been years, Draco. You should know better."

He nodded sullenly.

"Molly and her family are one of the reasons we regained our social standing. Despite our families' past alienation, she was kind enough to extent that olive branch and you know how it benefited us. She got me my sister back, little dragon."

Draco winced at the nickname. Only at her most vulnerable did Narcissa called him that. Against his better judgement he turned his eyes on his mother. She was surreptitiously trying to wipe a stray tear.

His heart clenched. He hated to see his mother cry. Knowing he had no other choice, he rolled his eyes, sighed heavily and beat down his instincts that screamed at him to run the fuck away.

"What do you want me to do?"

xxXxx

"Really Molly, you shouldn't have!" Hermione smiled gratefully as she demurely ate her pancakes.

The previous evening she had attended a 'surprise' party in her honour at the Burrow and ended up staying the night. It was a blast and she had fun with all her friends. The brunette witch even ate a second serving of Molly's delicious cake, despite her aversion to sweets.

Molly had been delighted to share she had been planning this _soiree _for weeks and was oh so happy Hermione liked it. Hermione couldn't bare to spoil Mrs Weasley's delight by admitting she knew about the party from the start. Ron had let it slip while drunk and she knew Molly would castrate him if she found out so she had kept silent. It really hadn't been intentional after all. She had just been promoted to Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Harry and Ron had been kind enough to drag her to the Leaky for a celebratory night out that led to the worst hangover in the history of hangovers the day after. But it was totally worth it.

"Oh, it was nothing dear." Molly smiled as she flipped a pancake. "It's not everyday a woman turns thirty I'll have you know! Besides we still hadn't celebrate your promotion. Why not combine it with your birthday bash?"

Hermione chuckled.

"Well, thanks anyway. It was amazing. I hadn't had the chance to hang around with anyone besides Harry and Ron for _months._ Work has been chaotic; so it was a nice _surprise_." She hid a mischievous smile.

"It was, wasn't it?"

A few minutes of comfortable silence passed as Hermione ate her delicious breakfast and Molly cooked for the late risers.

"Hermione?"

Hermione, mouth full, looked up and quirk a questioning eyebrow.

"I still haven't give you my present, dear."

Hermione swallowed, feeling a sudden and inexplicable twitch of dread swirling in her stomach. Molly's smile was sneaky as she slowly pushed a cream envelope, sealed with dark green wax towards her.

"Oh Molly, you've done more than enough! You didn't need to buy me something!" Hermione admonished as she gingerly took the letter.

"Nonsense. After all it cost me nothing. Narcissa was more than willing to help me."

_Narcissa? _"Narcissa Malfoy?" The younger woman asked quietly as she fingered the envelope.

She was one of the few people who was openly supportive of Molly's friendship with Lady Malfoy. The formerly snotty pure blood had proven she was a loyal friend. But not hers. Hermione had been invited to various social gatherings in Malfoy Manor and quite a few small, intimate meetings between Narcissa, Molly and Andromeda. The Ministerial affairs were hard to avoid; as a high ranking official she was obliged to attend most events. But on the occasions she could avoid, Hermione always had a handy excuse to decline Narcissa's invitations.

Despite her warmer attitude towards the Muggle Born witch, Narcissa Malfoy was an intimidating woman and Hermione was weary of her. Especially since Narcissa seemed so interest in her love life recently.

Unlike his wife though, Lucius had maintained his cold, standoffish personality. Whenever he came in contact with someone he deemed beneath him, a sneer would adorn his face and his distaste would be palpable. Keeping in mind he was walking a very thin line, he had managed to keep his vitriol to himself so far. The elder Malfoy was many things, but an idiot he was not.

Even the whisper of a suspicion regarding his involvement in any nefarious plans would land him with a one way ticket to Azkaban for permanent residence.

As for the younger Malfoy...

Hermione was willing to admit she had never been as shocked as the day she read about Draco's first exhibit. Never in her life had she imagined the snotty, arrogant blond boy would turn out to be an artist. A fantastic one at that.

Draco was considered amongst the most talented painters in Europe, wizarding _and _Muggle, and was often away in France and Italy for exhibits or simply to create another master piece. People were willing to pay him thousands of galleons to have their portrait commissioned by him.

To have an original Draco Malfoy painting was a sign of wealth.

His latest exhibit, _Darkness and Light, _was currently in display in the Wizarding Museum of Arts in Camberwell; it had received rave reviews and was considered his greatest one so far. Hermione had visited the Museum two days ago and she was still reeling.

The raw emotion Draco evoked with his strong brushes and use of shadows and light to highlight the struggle in his models, because _Darkness and Light _was a series of beautiful portraits, had touched her deeply.

Hermione had only seen him from afar; their social circles were vastly different and Draco usually avoided the various Ministry factions and events she was forced to attend.

And when he did attend, usually when his mother had been involved, he showed up with a stunning witch accompanying him, stayed for an hour or so and left before anyone had the chance to speak to him. Narcissa always laughed it off and said it was his artistic nature. The young Malfoy's mind was always focused on his next project and when inspiration stroke he dumped everything and everyone.

Secretly Hermione was curious to know the man her childhood bully had grown to be. But she would rather face Voldemort than admit it to anyone.

"Yes." Molly's voice brought her back to the present. "I didn't know what to get you; you have everything you need and I thought a book was too trite. So I asked Cissa for advice and _voila_!"

Hands trembling, Hermione smiled tremulously and broke the wax seal. The parchment was obviously expensive and on the right top corner it carried a very familiar tiny crest. Eyes wide, she read the few lines written in emerald green ink.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I am delighted to say my son, Draco, has gracefully agreed to have your portrait commissioned as a birthday gift from Molly. _

_Please let Molly know when you will have time for a preliminary visit to his studio to sort out the details. I will be more than happy to accompany you if you would like._

_Sincerely,_ _Narcissa Malfoy._


	2. Part II

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own HP.

**A/N: **Thanks for all the reviews.

_**The Artist**_

_**Part II**_

Daintily sipping her hot tea from the priceless ceramic cup, the blonde regally waved away the respectful elf waiting for its mistress's commands.

"How did Miss Granger react when you told her the news?" She asked with a scheming smile.

The rotund woman chortled, carefully placing her cup on its matching saucer. "You should have seen her face! I swear to Merlin, I was sure she'd explode!"

Her companion lost her carefully constructed composure and burst into laughter.

"Oh, Draco's reaction was better! He thought I was joking! He was still muttering two hours after he agreed."

More laughter ensued.

After a couple of minutes they finally calmed enough to sip their tea and smile conspiratorially at each other.

"Do you honestly think they'll work out?" The red head asked frowning.

"Of course." A soft snort. "You should have heard how Draco went on and on about that, pardon the slur, mudblood beating him at every class. He spent more time obsessing over her than Potter. Besides..."

"Besides what?"

"There's this painting. He keeps it locked up in his studio... He doesn't know I found it but..." Golden brows furrowed. "Trust me. There's something there. At least on his part."

"And on hers, I'm positive. Every time she sees one of his paintings, she gets this dreamy look on her face. Besides. We're not doing anything wrong. We are just giving them a gentle nudge. The rest-"

"-is up to them. Agreed."

With identical cunning smiles, the two women clinked their teat cups.

xxXxx

Hermione looked around, shifting uneasily on her plush love seat. The floor to ceiling windows bathed the spacious room in early afternoon light; the furniture, a mixture of antiques and modern pieces, made the place look surprisingly homely and warm. Either Draco had a very skilled decorator to his disposal or he had decorated himself. Given his profession, she'd bet on the later.

According to Mrs Malfoy, Draco chose to have his London studio housed in his penthouse since it provided additional privacy and the wards would keep unwanted company out.

"More tea, dear?"

"No, thank you Mrs Malfoy-"

"How many times will I have to ask you to call me Narcissa?" Narcissa's blue eyes twinkled with affection. Hermione still had trouble adapting to this side of the usually cold and stoic pure blood.

Blinking, the younger witch tentatively smiled. "My apologies Mrs Mal- _Narcissa_."

Smiling in satisfaction, the blonde gently placed the silver tea pot on the table and stood up, smoothing the elegant pale green silk robes she wore.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to check if my son finished his project." With a last fond smile, Narcissa went in search of her only son. Dorky, his house elf, had told them her young master was busy in his studio and would be with them soon.

That was an hour ago.

"I really don't have time for this." Hermione muttered when she was sure Narcissa was out of earshot.

Molly frowned disapproving.

"You can't leave, Hermione. Narcissa worked hard to convince Draco to do this and you agreed to come in today."

"I know!" Hermione blew a breathe. "But Kingsley assigned me a new case this morning and I need to get back to work as soon as possible."

"You work too hard," Molly chided motherly. "I know you skipped lunch to come here, and Kingsley tells me you have worked overtime since you got your promotion and your assignments are always delivered before your deadlines. A little time off won't hurt you."

"I _have_ to work overtime. I told you I'm taking two weeks extra vacation this Christmas to spend with my family in Australia."

"Oh, that's right; it's little Thalia's birthday, isn't it?"

Smiling at the thought of her baby sister, Hermione took a sip of tea before answering. It was a pleasant surprise when she found her parents in Australia and discovered her mum was pregnant with Thalia. Her mother accused her of spoiling Thalia, but she saw her so little over the year, she felt she was entitled to spoiling whenever she had the chance.

"Yes-" "Hermione, dear."

Startled, Hermione looked up.

Narcissa moved towards her, and behind her, leaning casually against the door frame, stood the younger Malfoy.

To say Draco Malfoy was a beautiful man was an understatement.

After spending most of his time in sunny Saint Tropez and tropical paradises in the Caribbean, Draco's skin had lost its pale pallor and had darkened to an enticing sun kissed trademark white blond hair wastied into a low ponytail with a few rebellious tendrils hiding his left eye. He was tall, almost as tall as Ron, and lean with narrow hips leading to strong, muscular thighs. His shoulders were broad and she could see the muscles in his arms and shoulders bunch under his thin shirt as he shifted. But the most arresting part of him was his face. His nose was straight and regal; his lips... Merlin his lips were full and sensual and she had a sudden desire to know what they would feel like on hers.

And his eyes. Hermione caught her breath. Light grey, they shimmered silver under the light, and she could make out ice blue chips flashing in them.

Breath taking.

It wasn't just his looks though. It was his aura; magnetic, alluring, hypnotising. It called to her.

Using all her mental power, Hermione managed not to drool.

She'd never thought she'd feel attracted to Malfoy of all people, but she was a woman. And she appreciated the perfect visage he presented in his casual white trousers, white cotton long sleeved shirt and black flip flops.

Yes, Draco was stunning and she'd have to remember to gouge her eyes out later for thinking such traitorous thoughts. Giving herself a mental pep talk, Hermione stood up gracefully. Self confident as she was, deluding herself was something the ex-Gryffindor never did. And the truth was that despite her status as a war heroine and professional success, a man like Draco, with his looks, fame and money, was out of her league.

And pragmatically speaking, she couldn't afford the heart break if she foolishly fell for him. She had too much going on in her life to let her self care for a self proclaimed playboy.

So any attraction she might feel for the blond, _had_ to be put down.

_Easier said than done, my girl._

Hiding a scowl, she levelled the young artist with a measuring look. "Malfoy. It's good to see you."


	3. Part III

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own HP.

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews.

This chapter is rated M. I don't think this could be considered as MA material, but I don't want to take any chances. If you guys think this is too explicit tell me. I'd hate to have the story taken down for something I can easily fix.

_**The Artist**_

_**Part III**_

Draco stared at the canvas. It took up most of his wall; still incomplete. Feeling frustrated and annoyed, he glared at the painted figure, her lean legs folded as crystalline droplets of water fell on her pale skin.

For almost eight years he's been working on this, and still he couldn't finish it.

He didn't want to, to be honest. He had no idea why he had felt compelled to start it in the first place. Merlin knew how much he hated the broken girl in the painting.

But one night eight years ago he dreamt of this, and for the following month, until he caved and started working on this, he'd been tormented with nightmares.

And yet he couldn't finish it.

The landscape had been finished for years; it was the unimportant part. A forest during a storm, the trees at the mercy of the fierce wind, lightning striking in the back and rain splashing on the uneven ground. And in the middle of this chaos... _her._

"Draco?"

Alarmed he looked towards the heavy wooden door behind him. No one was allowed to see this painting but him. Flicking his wrist, his wand slid to his hand from its wrist holster and with a flawless wave, the huge canvas shimmered and disappeared back in its hiding spot in the storage room, the door heavily charmed against intruders. His darkest secret; his greatest sorrow.

Not a second later the door knob twisted and his mother, dressed in light green robes and matching heels, entered the room.

Her long blonde hair was twisted into an elegant chignon and her smile was dark as she regarded him shrewdly.

"When are you planning on joining us, son?" She inquired calmly but Draco caught the underlining threat.

"I told Dorky I'd be with you soon." He snapped defensively. _For Nimue's sake, he didn't even want to do this in the first place, _he petulantly thought as he fleetingly checked his wrist watch and did a double take. Shit! He was here for almost six hours! And his mother and that damn Gryffindork had arrived over an hour ago! No wonder his mother looked ready to feed him his intestines!

"My apologies, mother. It seems I got absorbed in my work and forget to check the hour. I'm done though." _For now._ The thought made him scowl as he approached her, motioning her to the hallway and shut the door to his studio. "Shall we?"

Walking next to his mother, he felt apprehension seize him. The last time he had seen Granger was during the Final Battle. He knew she was a powerful Ministry executive, one many thought was on her way to become Minister one day, but other than gossip or articles about her, Draco knew nothing about the woman the gangly teenager he knew had grown up to be. Not that he had even bothered to keep track of her. He may no longer be prejudiced against Granger's parentage but that didn't mean he liked her as a person.

"I expect you to be at your best behaviour today, Draco."

"Aren't I always?"

"Draco." A hand gently grasped his arm. His grey eyes locked with her blue ones. "She might not show it most of the time, but Hermione-"

"Hermione?" He sneered the name. "Since when are you in first name basis with her?"

"Since now." Sharp and to the point. This was the woman who had lied to Voldemort and forced Lucius Malfoy into compliance. Draco was no different. Damn his soft spot for her. "Hermione Granger is probably the strongest woman you'll ever meet, and I'm not talking only about her magical power. Not many could withstand Bella's curse and yet she did it when she was but a child. She's proven her self worthy of my respect and I expect you to treat her as thus. She's a human being, she has feelings like you and I, and I won't allow you to hurt her the way you did-"

"Give me a break, mother! I was a child. And might I remind you, you _encouraged _me to treat her kind that way."

"I was wrong. I hope you realise it as well. Because after everything, if you still think blood matters, then I failed."

Feeling inexplicably angered, he gritted his teeth. "If I thought like that, she wouldn't be here, would she?"

He came to a stop as they reached the living room, but Narcissa continued, a smile on her face. Feeling annoyed he leaned against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest.

"Hermione, dear."

Following his mother's progress past a still plump and very bright haired Mrs Weasley, his eyes settled on a brown haired woman, fluidly standing up from her seat and smoothing her skirt.

Intelligent brown eyes locked on him, and Draco felt a jolt of _something _ran down his spine.

xxXxx

Later that night Draco laid awake on his enormous bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets gathered low on his hips as he stared unblinking at the night sky. The first thing he had done after buying the penthouse was replace the bedroom ceiling with a skylight. In the nights he couldn't sleep, he'd count the stars and find the constellations Madame Sinistra had taught them.

A soft sigh beside him made him look distastefully at the nude body slumbering on his bed. Her sweat matted blonde hair was plastered on her forehead and neck, and she had love bites spread on her bare breasts and throat.

After his meeting with Granger, he had felt restless. Seeing no need to go out, he simply called one of his usual sexual partners. Alyssa was more than willing to join him for the evening.

The leggy blonde hadn't even taken a step in before he'd had her pinned on the wall beside the entrance doors, her skimpy skirt around her hips and her button down shirt ripped plainly in half. He wasn't gentle as he took her, moving fast and hard to reach his own completion uncaring of her pleasure.

His back still ached from her scratches and his neck bared her marks. Suddenly feeling dirty, he pushed the covers down and stood up. Alyssa moaned softly. Sneering he grabbed his silk robe and went to his en suite.

The cold shower jerked him but he didn't warm the water. Bowing his head, he let the water cleanse him as he thought back to the woman he was supposed to paint.

Stubbornly he had avoided thinking about Granger after she walked out his penthouse, but now, in the silence of the night, he allowed himself to visit his memories.

Draco's first thought had been that age had done Granger wonders.

Her once bushy hair had smoothed into luxurious loose curls tumbling down her back, the sides pulled back into French twists connecting to the back of her head with a satin red ribbon. Two long curls framed her heart shaped face, delicately swaying as she moved her head. Unlike many women of Draco's acquaintance, Granger was not stick thin. More than a head shorter than him, she had an hour glass figure; her curves full and enticingly showcased by her fashionable, yet strictly professional outfit.

She was wearing a snug above the knees beige pencil skirt and a peplum silk cream sleeveless shirt with a high neckline, matched with nude coloured high heeled pumps. A wool bright red cardigan hang on her elbow as she observed the Spartan furnished studio, a matching leather bag hanging of her shoulder. Her only accessory was a pair of gold and red opal earrings.

She was not stunning, nor beautiful. No, Granger was and probably would never be a great beauty.

But she was surprisingly, shockingly and frighteningly -to him- attractive. She exuded authority and charisma and her presence demanded attention. Her eyes, a dark amber colour, sparkled with intelligence and a challenge when she looked at him.

That was a woman who knew her worth and wouldn't take shit from anyone. Especially her childhood bully.

She was not his type, he had thought; he'd always went for stunning blondes who never spoke back and worshiped the ground he walked on, and he didn't plan on changing any time soon. So he beat down the stab of attraction he felt for the curly haired witch and concentrated on the reason of her presence there. In his flat. In his life.

It was obvious from the way she spoke that the only reason she was doing this was Mrs Weasley. And maybe his mother.

When he had coolly informed her, he would need her to pose at least three times a week, Granger had pulled out her planner and forced him to grit his teeth and agree to a time schedule around her plans. Having to come second to Weasley and Potter -the woman was adamant she'd not cancel her planned lunch meetings with her friends- was a stab at his pride. Both personal and professional.

And with his mother present, he couldn't very well remind Granger he was a world famous artist, and she should feel honoured he had agreed to paint her. So he had bit his tongue, and fantasised about all the ways he could murder the Bitch Queen while she'd be all alone and vulnerable in his studio the following weeks. Decapitation was his favourite method so far, although cutting her tongue off and throwing her off the building was growing on him.

But now, remembering the way her eyes had flashed in determination and the flush colour her cream and peaches complexion when she argued with him, he felt his stomach tighten and stirrings of arousal ran down his body.

Damn but Granger looked fucking delectable when she was angry.

Feeling heat travel up his spine, he shut the shower and returned to the willing body awaiting for him on his bed, mentally cataloguing that last thought for future use.

Alyssa was a welcomed reprieve for his lustful thoughts for now.

xxXxx

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

That were Hermione's first words when she saw the dress Narcissa had _insisted _she wore for her portrait.

"By Merlin, Granger just swore. What's next? Weasley learning table manners?"

"Shut it, Malfoy." Hermione snapped as she touched the soft fabric of the garment. Silk.

It was red with a square neckline and two thick straps securing it on her shoulders. The lined skirt felt in waves of silky fabric down to her feet and Molly had told her she'd be barefoot. Narcissa had forced her son to move a beautiful oak red plush chaise to the studio and pushed it in front of the northern wall, which Draco had painted to resemble the Northern Lights after he moved in.

Draco's only job would be to direct Hermione on how to pose on the chaise.

The two meddling women were currently having tea in Draco's living room; Narcissa had plans with her son later in the evening and had asked Molly to keep her company until the two finished their first session.

"As much as I enjoy seeing you glare at the dress," his mouth quirk but she was too angry to notice, "I think it's best you change. If you don't want them to force you into it. And trust me on this. They _will_."

Biting her lip, unaware of Draco's sudden interest to that part of her, Hermione carefully lifted the gown and sighed. She had never been comfortable dressing up. The only reason she didn't go to work in jeans and a T shirt was because no one would take her seriously if she did. No matter what she thought, in her line of work appearances played a big part in developing certain relations and establishing her image in the eyes of her associates. Thank God Ginny and Lavender had given her a crash course on fashion and helped her shop for a new wardrobe when she got her first promotion.

Looking up at her host, who stood rigid, his eyes hard, she raised an eyebrow. He raised one back.

_Arrogant arse._

"I need to change."

No reaction.

"Go. Away."

"This is_ my _studio." Curt, cool and biting.

"I'll just ask Narcissa to show me to another room then. Since you aren't willing to accommodate me." Her smile was venomous and Draco glared at her frostily before turning and walking out, making sure to bang the door shut. She was certain she heard him call her a bitch.

Hermione shrugged and smirked as she bent down to take off her ankle boots. The weather had taken a turn for the worse the last week so she had arrived in Malfoy's penthouse dressed appropriately in boots, a warm coat, scarf, gloves and a winter hat. All in shades of white that had made Draco look at her with both eyebrows risen.

Left in only her satin peach coloured lingerie -her guilty pleasure, sexy underwear- she shimmied into the dress but she couldn't reach the back zipper. Damn.

The door creaked open and she knew it was too much to hope it was Narcissa or Molly.

"Ready?" Draco's tone was crisp.

Fighting down a furious blush, she bit her lip.

"Not exactly." Seeing his inquiring gaze, she rolled her eyes. "I can't reach the zipper."

Silence.

An exasperated sigh.

"Turn around."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione lost the battle and her face bloomed with colour. She was certain the blush reached her chest as Malfoy walked to her. The regal blond though stayed unaffected as he came to stand a foot away from her. Affronted at her own behaviour, she blinked and against her better judgement, turned her back to him. The dress left her bare all the way to the small of her back and made her feel vulnerable in his presence. Draco might be an arrogant bastard, but he was a man. A deliriously attractive one at that.

A strong, warm hand brushed her hair over one shoulder and Hermione felt his fingers trail the sensitive skin along her spine.

She shivered.

"Cold, Granger?" Husky, sensual, Draco's voice was pure sin as he slowly zipped her up, making sure his knuckles skimmed the length of her spine, his breath whispering across her exposed flesh.

"A l-little." She stammered, embarrassed. Hermione didn't think he believe her. She wouldn't have believed herself. Her blood was boiling, her skin felt taut and her fingertips tingled.

"Hm." Was his response as he leaned in. Hermione made a small sound of surprise when their bodies touched. He was all hard planes and she felt his muscles ripple as his hands wrapped around her upper arms. She felt trapped, but not scared. His lips grazed the shell of her ear, hot breath blowing against her neck and she audible gasped. His lips stretched into what she knew was a satisfied smirk.

The damn man was playing her. And she was letting him.

Determined not to be outdone by him, she slightly turned her head, his lips a fraction of an inch away from her skin. Her eyes clashed with his, burning challengingly. Her lower abdomen clenched when she noticed how dilated his pupils were, the silver only a thin ring.

Hermione bit her lip.

Draco drew in a sharp breathe, his focus completely on her mouth, his hands tightening on her arms as his cheeks warmed.

Trembling she tried to take a step away. His hand snapped to her hip, grabbing her flesh, roughly pulling her back; his other hand came to rest on her ribcage, his thumb just under her breast.

"Going somewhere, Granger?" His voice was guttural, hoarse. Her head dropped on his shoulder, surrendering to this unexpected, all consuming passion. Her attraction to him was burning her up and the hardness poking her lower back assured her it was not unrequited.

"I need-" Her voice choked when he bit the lobe of her ear, then soothed it with his soft, moist tongue. Shivers broke out all over her skin, her delicate satin panties felt damp and she deliberately clenched her thighs, trying to soothe the ache inside.

_Merlin._


	4. Part IV

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own HP.

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews.

_**The Artist**_

_**Part IV**_

Draco was breathing heavily as he fought to remain in control and not throw Granger on the damn chaise, push her dress up, shove aside her knickers and plunge straight into what he _knew _would be paradise on earth. He could feel her body shaking; her hands had reached back and grasped his thin cotton shirt in tiny fists, her legs tightly clenched and her heady scent saturated the air. His nostrils flared.

Sweet Merlin, she smelled intoxicating.

_I wonder how she'll tast-_

No, no, Draco, my boy. _Bad _thoughts.

A throaty whimper and her lower body shifted, brushing against the hard bulge in his trousers.

_Fuck._

His right thumb brushed the underside of her breast and Granger's back arched, a soft keening sound leaving her throat. His leg moved on its own volition, forcing her legs apart and wedging between her thighs, pressing up, up into warmness and-

"Hermione? Draco?"

Like a bucket of ice cold water, his mother's voice cut through the lustful fog clouding his mind and broke him out of the erotic trance. Literally jumping away from Granger's warm body, Draco balled his hands into fists to stop their shaking and pushed his hair, damp with perspiration, away from his forehead.

His erection had deflated the moment Narcissa called but looking at Granger, all dishevelled and flushed, her plump lower lip red and slightly swollen from biting it, he felt it stirring back to life.

"There's a bathroom through that door." He snapped nodding towards a door behind her. "Go fix yourself."

Cheeks flaming, eyes flashing, she straitened and not uttering a single word walked to the small bathroom with her head held high.

Draco felt a little guilty for snapping at her; this... whatever this was, it wasn't only her fault. He was the one who took the first step. She just followed.

_She should have pushed me away!_

With a deep sigh he called out to his mother.

And he had thought the weeks with Granger would be horrible before. After today, he was 100% positive they'd be a nightmare.

xxXxx

Hermione felt like shit.

She hadn't slept well for almost a month. Since that heated encounter in Malfoy's studio, every night her dreams were filled with scenarios of what would have happened if Narcissa hadn't interrupted them.

Every dream was different, yet the same. One time she had turned and slapped him silly, another he had bent her over the chaise and taken her from behind all the while whispering how naughty she had been. Another, after they had finished, he had sneered at her and called her a mudblood.

Hermione always woke up sweaty and aching between her legs. She hadn't had so many wet dreams since she was a teenager.

Her love life admittedly was lacking; her last boyfriend, a co-worker who turned out unable to stand to be with a more successful woman than him, was sweet and caring in bed, but she hadn't felt that spark.

Only Ron had managed to bring her to orgasm, and that had been rare. For some strange reason, every man she had been with, Ron included, treated her like she was a porcelain doll. They were always gentle and caring, as if they were afraid she'd break if they were rough with her.

As a modern woman, Hermione could admit that, while she loved being made love to, sometimes she needed to be handled roughly. As she had put it crudely to Gin one night after one too many glasses of wine, sometimes she needed a good, old fashioned fuck.

She needed to experience that raw passion that rendered her incapable of thought; she wanted someone to need her so badly that every other thought except taking her on any available surface, was obliterated from his mind.

She needed...

Damn it all to hell, she needed that fire Malfoy had ignited in her. That all consuming passion that made her whimper and weak in the knees.

Going crazy with this unfulfilled ache, she had agreed to let Ginny set her up. As a professional Quidditch player, many of Gin's male acquaintances were famous Quidditch players who wouldn't be intimidated by Hermione's fame.

The only reason she had accepted, was to get a certain blond artist out of her mind. Convinced all she really needed to stop thinking about Draco was a healthy dose of the horizontal tango, she had dragged Ginny to Muggle London to find the perfect come-hither outfit for her date.

That coming Saturday Draco Malfoy would be completely erased from her mind. She'd made sure of it.

xxXxx

Draco rolled on his bed exhausted. A sleepless night. Again. What was it? The fourth night this week? The fifth? He didn't know.

Since that heated moment with Granger several weeks ago, he'd been unable to sleep properly. And eat. And actually function. His head was filled with memories of their proximity, her satiny soft skin and addictive scent. The ghost of her skin burnt his lips every time he closed his eyes, and the phantom of her soft whimpers tormented him continuously.

Every night he sought to ease his mind using other women; but after finishing he was furious to note his hunger was not satiated. It wouldn't be until he had the woman he craved.

That wild lust for her was driving him mad. He wanted her like he had never wanted another. But he'd never allow himself to have her. Granger was different from his usual conquests and one night stands. She practically had 'Look but Don't Touch' plastered on her forehead.

Besides... She was obviously the kind of woman who would want flowers and chocolates and making sweet love in front of the fire. Granger probably thought there was only one position in sex. And Draco was not a vanilla kind of man. He could be gentle when he wanted to, but he preferred hard, adventurous sex. Most of his dates ended with him between his partner's thighs in a bathroom stall or against the wall of an alley before taking them to his flat for round two. There were not many boundaries Draco wasn't willing or hadn't crossed in his sex life, and Merlin help him, he wanted to do it all with Hermione.

She was the princess of everything that was pure, and he was the king of wickedness. And the thought of defiling her, introducing her to the world of sexual pleasures beyond her imagination, excited him to an almost unbearable point.

To banish her from his mind he had dedicated the sleepless nights to his art.

His main focus remained his unfinished forest with the fallen angel at its centre. He wasn't remotely closed to finishing; something, he couldn't pinpoint what, eluded him in his angel.

Frustrated at his lack of progress, he had taken another cold shower before bed. Tomorrow he had another session with Granger. He had started working on the actual painting but he still had a long way to go. Having her sprawled on the chaise, wild hair falling around her face and that sinful dress draping her curves as she reclined on the furniture, had him taking regular bathroom breaks to splash his face with cold water.

More than once he had to sprint out the room to stop himself from lunging at her after she did something particularly enticing, like bite her lip or move a certain way, causing the dress to rise on her legs.

His grasp on his self control was running thin and he prayed he'd manage to finish the fucking portrait without giving in his darker desires.


	5. Part V

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own HP.

_**The Artist**_

_**Part V**_

Hermione felt her mouth fill with bitter disappointment.

Due to a work emergency, she had had to reschedule one of her posing appointments with Draco. That had roused a huge row because Draco refused to altered his own plans to fit her schedule.

According to him, it was her problem and either she agreed to a time he was comfortable with or he'd just drop the portrait. And he hadn't been kidding either. The coldness in his eyes and his icy tone had given his words credit.

So making some rearrangements in her planner, moving a meeting here and cancelling a lunch there, working overtime for a week, she had managed to take the last Monday of November off; one of the days Draco had let her know suited him.

She couldn't exactly fault him, despite having to sleep all through Sunday to replenish her energy after such a tiring week, but she was still furious with the way he treated her. Like she was beneath him and he was doing her a favour by just being in the same room with her.

By God, ever since that fateful day they got a little overboard and Narcissa saved them the embarrassment, Draco was acting like his namesake. A temperamental dragon, ready to burst into a rampage with just one gentle poke.

He sneered at her when she arrived, ignored her most of the time, and only looked at her for the purpose of painting her. For the rest of the time she was forced to be at his presence, she might as well be invisible.

Hermione felt like crying in frustration. Especially with the way he looked at her when she posed. Eyes the colour of mercury, he watched her like a predator. When she unconsciously bit her lip, his mouth would tighten and his eyes would darken to stormy grey. Every time, he had practically ran to the bathroom, voice hoarse and hands balled into tight fists.

Based on her previous interactions with Draco, he either hated her or... He wanted her.

Not daring to make assumptions, afraid she'll be ridiculed -a Gryffindor she might have been, but she wasn't an idiot- Hermione kept her mouth shut and tried to keep things casual between them. After two failed attempts to start a civil conversation, where she was told to shut up or get the hell out, she dropped the civility and went back to cold formality. Basically the only words they exchanged from the moment she set foot in his penthouse until she left were his directions on how to turn her head, move her body and place her hair.

So it shouldn't come as a shock that Draco really was a heartless bastard. He had never given her any indication to think otherwise.

But it did.

And her heart broke -because being the foolish woman that she was, she still had let part of her feel something for him- when she floo'd in his penthouse that cold Monday morning and came face to face with a tall woman clad in only what Hermione recognised as one of Draco's expensive shirts.

Despite her scantily clad form, the woman was stunning. Tall and slim, her face a visage of perfection with fine features, alabaster skin and baby blue eyes. Hair the colour of milk chocolate fell loose down her back and her eyes widen when Hermione step out the fireplace.

What really had Hermione's attention though were the red marks all over the woman's swan neck and collarbones. It was painfully obvious what Draco had been doing the night before, and it sent a shard of ice straight to her heart.

_Damn, damn and triple damn! See what you get for liking him? Hermione Granger, you are an idiot!_

Shaken, Hermione tried in vain to compose herself before Draco made his appearance. Smart as he was, it wouldn't take him long to realise why Hermione was ready to burst into tears.

The practically naked woman regained her equilibrium first. Blue eyes narrowed and delicate arms folded across her chest, emphasising her cleavage.

"What are _you_ doing here, Granger? This is a private residence, you know. I'm sure Draco will be furious someone like you set foot in his house." She sniffed, flipping her hair back.

Forget Draco for now. Hermione's sole focus rested on the woman before her. Evidently not a huge fan of hers, she pretty much spat hatred as she glared at her, but Hermione knew she had met the bit- um, _woman_ before. Mentally going through her acquaintances, she searched for a name to match the venomous cobra standing in front of her.

Suddenly she recalled a morning a few months ago; one of her last field trips as a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was to the impressive Greengrass Manor. They had received numerous reports the family's elves were mentally and bodily abused and she, along with her then boyfriend Benjamin Marchbanks, had been sent to investigate. To say the visit was unpleasant was the understatement of the year. But one particular sneering face stayed with her.

"Astoria Greengrass." She muttered distastefully. Even before she had met the younger woman in person, she knew _of _her.

Astoria was your typical spoilt pureblood princess. She had never worked a day in her life and lived off of her parents' fortune. The stunning witch was often featured in tabloids; she had a reputation of sleeping around with any man with some semblance of fame and status, and her life goal was to snare a rich husband so she could continue living the luxurious life she was used to.

Draco apparently was her flavour of the week.

The brunette witch had no doubt in her mind, Astoria had had her sights on Draco for some time now. And why wouldn't she? Not only was he rich and famous, but Draco was recently voted as the most sought out bachelor in England, surpassing even Harry Potter. Simply put, Draco was a catch and everyone who knew Astoria's reputation would have guessed sooner or later, she'd go after the Malfoy heir.

The hardest thing to swallow though, was the fact Draco must have known of Astoria's reputation; and he still chose to associate himself with her. Not to mention her being here today, when Draco _knew _Hermione would be coming, was an intentional and calculated move on his part; perhaps he hoped to make a point of what he thought of Hermione.

Astoria's beautiful face twisted into a snarl at Hermione's obvious disregarding tone.

"Tori. Play nice." Came a drawl and Hermione's eyes snapped to Draco. Mouth going dry, she fought her body's immediate reaction to his presence. Merlin, the man was sin incarnated!

Draco was standing in the doorway, a pair of black satin pyjama bottoms hung lowly on his hips and a cruel smirk was twisting his lovely mouth as his silver-grey eyes regarded her with mocking amusement. Her heart gave a painful twist when she noticed his naked torso bared the marks of his late night activities.

Blushing furiously, Hermione averted her eyes.

"Oh Merlin, Granger, don't tell me you are such a prude the sight of a half naked man embarrasses you!" Astoria's laugh was taunting, her eyes malicious. "Of course someone like _you _wouldn't have much experience, but someone must have taken pity on you, surely."

Draco choked on what Hermione thought was a laugh. Eyes burning, she clasped the strap of her bag tightly.

_Do you hear? This is the man you dream of sleeping with! Is it worth it? Being humiliated in this way, is it worth it? Is it?_

No. Absolutely not, Hermione thought, having had enough. Enough with his treatment and enough with his behaviour. She wasn't the one who asked for this. In fact Hermione had been against the whole portrait idea from the very beginning. It was Narcissa and Molly who had pressured her into meeting with Draco, forcing her to accept the gift.

Sure she loved his work, and being painted by him could be considered a great honour. But to what extent? Was her dignity, her pride, the price for a simple portrait? A portrait she'd never asked for to begin with?

No.

She was thirty years old, her career was flourishing, she had friends who loved and accepted her for who she was and a baby sister who looked up to her. She was a war heroine dammit.

And to feel like her insecure fifteen year old self because of a man... Unacceptable.

"Excuse my embarrassment, Astoria." Her tone was cutting. "I prefer to keep my private life, well... _Private._ I'm regularly on the papers without trying; I don't need to advertise who I'm sleeping with to get publicity. I do have my dignity, you know. Not that someone like _you _would know the meaning of the word. Merlin knows how desperate you are to be on the spotlight; you'd probably spread your legs for Filch if it got you enough attention!"

Astoria's pale complexion turned puce and Hermione, despite feeling a little bad for her uncharacteristic verbal attack on Astoria, coldly shifted her gaze to the silent man in the room, dismissing the sputtering witch.

"I'd think, after all the shit you spew at me for missing a session, you'd had the decency to inform me in advance you'd be unavailable. So I wouldn't have intruded. Unlike _some_ people, I actually have a job." She flatly said.

Clearly amused, Draco casually walked in the room and placed his arm around Astoria's slim waist. That seemed to soothe her temper.

"What can I say, Granger? Something came up." Astoria tittered at the double meaning and wrapped her body unashamedly around him, his shirt ridding high on her thighs.

Careful to keep her eyes on Draco's, she couldn't help but hear Astoria's breathy voice as she, ignoring Hermione's presence, started whispering in his ear.

"I can see that." Sighing in apparent annoyance, she asked: "Do our future appointments still stand?"

"Of course." He flippantly answered.

"Great." She replied sarcastically and without waiting she turned and stepped in the floo. The last thing she heard before the emerald flames engulfed her was Astoria's laughing shriek.

The tears didn't come until she was safely tucked in bed, her pillow clutched in shaking hands, muffling her sobs.

**A/N: **First of all, thanks for all the lovely reviews. It means a lot to me to know you are enjoying my story.

Second of all, I know the chapters' length is problematic. Waiting for a week for an update, I'm sure most of you would expect a somewhat longer chapter.

I can't promise to make the chapters longer, but I can say the story **will **be completed before 2014. So all I can ask, is have a little patience.


	6. Part VI

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own HP.

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews.

This was one of the chapters I didn't have time/space to write. It is not necessary for the story's progress, but after finishing last chapter back in September, I knew I had to write this. It explains a lot about Draco's attitude and prepares the way for the next chapter.

I hope, after reading this, you'll have a better understanding of why Draco is the way he is, and why he acts that way towards Hermione.

My friend -how I love her!- got me a new job last week, and I've been working insane hours due to the holidays. Apologies for nor keeping the update schedule, but I kinda suck at keeping it whenever I actually make one. Sorry.

Good news, though! Next chapter is ready, and I'll post it the day after tomorrow!

After that, there are two (?) more chapters left in this story, so I anticipate to complete the story before next week. Cross your fingers!

_**Magitect****: **_ I don't know if the term is original, but since I first encountered it in another story, I feel I should give credit where credit is due. So **magitect **is a term I borrowed from **Countess of Abe**'s amazing story **A Wonderful Caricature of Intimacy **where Draco is a magitect -the magical equivalent of an architect**.** If you haven't read it, do so immediately. It will be worth your while, promise!

_**Fuckity fuck: **_I came upon this phrase in tumblr and the Doctor Who fandom (kudos!), a fandom I'm not a fan of, but for some reason my dashboard is filled with references to the show!

_**The Artist**_

_**Part VI**_

Draco frowned.

He was sitting on his comfortable couch in front of his marble fireplace, a tumbler of whiskey at hand, watching the flames lick the wood as he pondered the last few days.

Last week he had his last session with Granger, and once again noticed something was off with the brunette's behaviour.

Since that incident with Tori a month ago, she'd been strangely quiet and distant when she came to his penthouse for their appointments.

Not that before she had been a chatterbox; after a few failed attempts to engage him in conversation, she had given up. Or at least she had _claimed _to give up.

Being who she was, Granger had lasted maybe two hours into their first session after her promise not to bother him with 'idle chitchat'. Draco had been amused to note she had been reduced to a fidgeting, neurotic mess by the time she broke down, and demanded he respond to her asinine questions.

He had managed to hid his smirk behind his canvas as he told her to shut up and tilt her head.

After that, he decided it was to his best interest to indulge her. Grudgingly, Draco had to admit he was impressed with her. And he could tell that -and the brown-haired spitfire would never admit it out loud- Granger _admired _him. Numerous times he had caught her looking entranced at his paintings, eyes wide and lips parted as she contemplated them.

Yes, Draco Malfoy had gotten used to having Hermione Granger in his life, and actually looked forward to their spats. Lately she was the only one who could set his blood on fire, and even though he didn't _plan _to do something about it, he enjoyed her effect on him nevertheless.

But for the past month, she'd walk in, change, pose for as long as he needed her, change to her normal clothes and leave without uttering a single word.

And her eyes.

The fire that he had come to yearn, the fire that made his skin crawl and his blood to boil, was missing. Her eyes were a dull, empty brown. Not the usual rich, honey-amber colour that he agonized over copying on his painting.

And it unnerved him.

He had seen that fire when his mother accompanied her and they chatted like old friends. He had seen her eyes sparkle when one of her friends called her in her cell phone during their sessions, and then he had to watch helplessly as her eyes dimmed when she turned to him, her smile fading into a pale imitation of its usual brightness.

Only when she looked at _him_, she appeared empty.

But why?

He knew Astoria's words had hurt her, he had seen pain flash in her eyes when Tori had mocked her, but he knew she'd get over it pretty quickly. He had been amused at Tori's stupidity -anyone with eyes could see Granger was sinfully attractive - and almost laughed aloud when she verbally attacked Granger. Poor girl had no idea what hell she had unleashed upon herself. Hermione had responded as he expected and seemed to only be pissed off at him for cancelling their session after he gave her hell for the one she had missed.

And Draco had been his usual snarky, bastard self; nothing new.

So why Granger was acting so strange?

The thought that she was hurt by knowing he had slept with Astoria did cross his mind, but he disregarded it as silly. Sure there was sexual attraction between them -Merlin the air between them positively _sizzled_ every time he came near her- but Draco was not ignorant. He knew Granger was not interest in one night stands. She was the relationship type.

And even if he managed to seduce her, and he felt confident he could, a one night stand with Granger would cause too many complications; complications he neither needed nor wanted in his life right now.

Narcissa was very fond of the former Gryffindor, and she'd have his head on a pike if she learned he bedded Hermione; not to mention the havoc her idiotic friends could cause in his personal and professional life.

No matter how successful and talented he was, Granger's best friend was Harry Bloody Potter. A word from him could destroy his career.

No, a liaison with Granger was out of the question.

She was forbidden.

Not his type, really.

She was-

Oh, for the love of Merlin!

He threw his tumbler in the fireplace, stood up and started pacing.

This was absurd!

Granger was just another woman! He shouldn't be bothered by her! He literally only needed to crook his finger, and he had his pick of stunning beauties.

Just because he couldn't, _wouldn't,_ have Granger, didn't mean he'd be celibate!

Of course not!

He had no lack of female company since his first successful exhibition; of course at that time, he was pretty much in lov-

_No. Do NOT think about _her.

But it was too late.

Draco fell on his couch with a groan, his hand automatically going to his hair, pulling it loose from the low ponytail he had put it into earlier this evening. Memories of his college years had invaded his mind, and he felt a migraine coming.

It always did when he thought about _her_; Genie.

Genevieve Lemaire, Teaching Assistant to Academie des Arts where Draco had been studying Arts and the heiress to an empire.

Genie was a stunning raven haired beauty with sapphire blue eyes and the body of a goddess. Heads turned and jaws dropped when she entered a room, and many friendships were broken because of her. A wink had males dropping like flies at her pretty feet, and Miss Lemaire knew how to use her charms to her what she wanted.

And she had wanted Draco.

Still reeling from the war, and feeling both angry and sad at his father, Draco had been hooked when the older, more experienced woman had showed him an interest over the dozens of her admirers; admirers that were not as rich as he, but their reputations weren't as sullied as the Malfoy family's.

She was a breathe of fresh air when his family's disgrace plagued him, and he felt like drowning. Genie -who refused to let him call her Vivi; her name brought back unpleasant memories of a certain ginger haired family- was smart, beautiful and knew when to let loose and when to be serious. She drew him out, introduced him to the pleasures of Muggle alcohol and night clubs, and allowed him to paint her nude figure under the moonlight in his family's penthouse in Avenue des Champs-Elysees in Paris.

Draco had fell in love. So in love that he had designed and commission an engagement ring worthy of Genevieve. As your typical love sick fool, he had planned every last detail of his proposal.

What he hadn't take into consideration was that Genevieve wasn't interest in him as much as she was interest in his family's vast wealth.

Lemaire Enterprises was going bankrupt, and Louis, Genie's father, had ordered his only daughter to seduce into marriage the only Malfoy heir, so they could have access to the Malfoy vaults, and save the family name and fortune.

Draco was ignorant of his beloved Genie's schemes, and he'd have made the biggest mistake of his life if it wasn't for Pansy.

Once his fiancé, Pansy Parkinson was one of the few women he actually respected.

They had mutually decided they didn't work as a couple, and broke the marriage contract biding them the moment she turned twenty one. Like him, she moved to France in order to save herself from the ruthless slander of the papers.

After all, it didn't take long for someone to blab about how willing the young Parkinson had been to hand over Potter to the Dark Lord. Her being absolutely terrified for her life meant nothing to the public.

But if there was anything Pansy wasn't, that was maudlin.

She geared up, held her head high and proceeded to live her life as a young socialite, She got along famously with Genevieve when they talked fashion, but she kept telling him there was something fishy with his lovely girlfriend.

Although never fully over her issues with blood purity, Pansy was very much in favour of intermingling with Muggles. In Paris she got to know and fell in love with Muggle fashion, and the variety of styles.

She was currently employed as a fashion editor in Witch Weekly, but she had started her career in a lowly Parisian magazine. As an aspiring fashion journalist, she had attended various events, and she had caught whiff of the whispered scandal in the making.

_Lemaire Enterprises was falling apart!_

Smelling a scheme -Pansy prided herself on being a professional schemer- she tactfully posed the right questions, snooped some more, and after some bribing, blackmailing and some more snooping, found out the Lemaire patriarch's plans.

Draco had been devastated when a reluctant, ashen Pansy had told him. She knew how he felt for Genie, and knew what the revelation of her true intentions would do, but she knew it would hurt him more in the long run.

Despite his initial anger -Draco always had been the type to shoot the messenger- he eventually came to thank and appreciate Pansy as a dear friend.

Along with Blaise, Pansy stood by him every step of the way until he got over her betrayal.

Only to have his heart break all over again when he caught Amanda Seyne, his girlfriend of a year, in bed with his friend Theo Nott.

He broke Theo's nose, utterly destroyed Nott Sr's company, and made sure Amanda couldn't find a modeling job in the continent. Her hateful words -_arsehole, heartless bastard, Death Eater scum- _had left him with a cold heart and aching soul.

Was love supposed to hurt like this? After everything he had been through, didn't he deserve to find happiness?

Moving beyond pain surprisingly fast, Draco became angry. At his past, his father, _women._

With eyes open wide, but clouded with heartbreak, he noticed no woman bothered seeing past his public persona. They didn't try to get to know the real Draco Malfoy, the man behind the paintbrush and the Death Eater mark. He could practically _read _their minds when they laid eyes on him; they saw money, fame, prestige and good looks.

Convinced no woman was worth his time, Draco decided love was overrated, and he had no need of it.

Pansy and Blaise tried to help him, make him see not all women were gold digging vultures, but Draco was adamant.

Marriage was not for him.

All he wanted, all he _needed_, was sex and they offered it with a wink and a sexy smile.

So why bother?

No woman deserved the trouble.

_Yeah, only Granger doesn't care about how much money you have, or how good looking you are. She knew you at your worst, and she still let you touch her. To her you are not Draco Malfoy, The Artist._

_To her you are just... Draco Malfoy. The boy who used to bully her, and the man who can take her up to a battle of wits every day of the week._

_She... Damn you man, she sees _you, _The real you..._

Fuckity fuck. Maybe he had screwed up.


	7. Part VII

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own HP.

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews.

Many commented on expecting Draco to grovel for forgiveness. I won't expand, I posted a thorough explanation in my blog, but I really don't think Draco would actually _grovel_. The way I imagined him, he's not the grovelling kind. He and Hermione share a lot of the same characteristics, as shown in this and the next chapter, and personally I think this work better.

Of course you are free to agree or disagree, it's a matter of opinion. Just don't expect me to change anything, if you don't like it.

I'll try to have the next chapter this Monday.

_**The Artist**_

_**Part VII**_

Draco swept in his studio, his magic a dark aura of fury around him, the door banging shut as he angrily ran his hand through his hair.

His white turtle-neck constricted his breathing and with a growl, he ripped it off and started pacing.

Breathing heavily, itching to destroy something, _anything_, his eyes fell on the almost finished portrait he'd been working on for the last three months. The woman in the portrait seemed to be mocking him with her full pink lips stretched to a smile and her dark eyes.

Those eyes...

Those were the eyes he saw earlier sparkling as their owner laughed with another man.

His mother had been harassing him to have dinner with her for weeks, and after much grumbling on his part, some skilful manipulation on hers, he'd agreed and joined her in her favourite restaurant earlier tonight. Narcissa was an expert in playing on people's guilt, and she knew exactly which buttons to press to make Draco do her biding.

He didn't know if he should feel proud or annoyed at his sneaky, manipulative mother. Even when he was away from UK for months at a time, he always found time to pen her a letter, because Merlin knew, she wasn't above showing up, unannounced, to his hotel for a chat_._

His mind wondering -Narcissa had once again breached the topic of his lack of a serious love life and her yearning for a grandchild. Merlin, did he regret his liaison with Astoria after she finished biting his head off for consorting with a known gold digger!- as it always did when the conversation inevitably led to his personal life; a life Narcissa deeply disapproved off, he would have never noticed _her _if Narcissa hadn't, rather cheerily, pointed her out.

Because the woman dining with a brown haired wanker, couldn't possibly be the same Granger who had been plaguing his mind for the last three months.

Her long hair had been swept into a messy up-do leaving her throat exposed. Her emerald green cocktail dress had a plunging V neckline and stopped a few inches above her knees; tiny crystals stitched to the fabric shimmered when the light caught them and a simple silver and emerald necklace drew attention to the ample amount of cleavage showing. Black suede peep toe high heeled sandals made her legs seem longer and his eyes were drawn to the soft skin of her thigh being exposed as she shifted her legs.

Her eyes were darkly lined, mysterious, and her lips looked soft and utterly kissable even from a distance.

She had been deeply engrossed in animated conversation with her companion- no, her _date__-_and hadn't noticed him openly gawking. The oaf had laughed at something she'd said, answered back and then... _The__n_Granger had placed her small hand over his. And she _smiled._

Draco felt his breathe caught.

Ignoring his own mother's nattering, Draco had counted the seconds until she released his hand, trying to recall why killing the man was such an unwise move.

She hadn't retract her touch. Instead that damn witch had lean in and kissed his cheek.

Furious, Draco had averted his eyes and tried to focus on his mother who incidentally had been watching him watch Granger with an infuriating little smirk on her face. Refusing to speak about it, he'd engaged her in conversation about her charity work and plans for the upcoming holidays.

He lost his composure, though, when he saw in his peripheral vision Granger's boy toy lean in for a kiss. Seething, he had stood up, his chair crashing to the floor behind him and sending the poor waitress just walking past, head first into the chocolate cheesecake she was carrying.

Ignoring the buzzing noise of the other patrons and his mother's knowing smile, he fled the establishment, his coat forgotten. Narcissa was more than able to handle things on her own and he needed to cool off before he did something he'd later come to regret.

So here he was now, furious beyond belief as he stared at the bane of his existence.

This, everything, was _her _fault.

Until her, his life had been perfect. He was content with just his art as companion; no woman would dictate how he lived his life and he preferred it that way.

He enjoyed being a bachelor, having any woman he wanted and being free from commitments.

Or at least he used to.

Before _her._

How did this happen?

How had he reached this point?

All it was to it when they met for the first time in years, was a promise to his mother. Granger was nothing but another witch.

That moment in his studio all these weeks ago meant nothing. It was just a momentary lapse in judgement, one he had made a point not to repeat.

So how did he come to this? His heart in shreds and feeling like puking his intestines out? Merlin his eyes were stinging! What was happening to him?

Yes, he had acknowledged Granger was vastly different to the women he usually dated. She saw him for who he really was; and yes, he had admitted he had fucked up, that maybe his attraction was founded in something a little deeper.

But _this_?

With a roar of pure rage he lunged at the canvas and grabbing the vases with paint he kept next to it, he smashed them on it, hand shaking as he smeared that mocking face. He needed her to stop _staring _at him, tempting him with what he couldn't have.

At that moment, he absolutely _hated _Hermione Granger.

Panting, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. His eyes narrowed when he saw the only part unharmed of the previously stunning portrait, was a pair of intelligent brown eyes. Loosing what little control he had, he retrieved his wand from his pocket and levelled it to the painting_. _His lips curled into a sneer and he opened his mouth.

"_Reduc-"_

"What the hell are you doing?"

That voice.

Startled, he dropped his wand and twirled around. His eyes widen when he saw none other than Hermione Granger, still dressed in that gorgeous frock, standing in his studio's doorway. Confused, she looked past him and he knew the moment she saw her portrait by the slight widening of her eyes and parting of her mouth.

"What-" She shook her head and breathed deeply. "What the hell happened?"

"You." He growled, his hands balling. Her presence spiked his temper and before he knew it, he lunged at her and pinned her to the wall, her hands above her head and her legs trapped beneath his. Her amber eyes widen farther when she realised her predicament and she started thrashing, trying to escape.

"What the fuck are you doing! Let me go, Malfoy!"

"NO! How dare you," he shook her, her head banging against the wall. "How dare you kiss that fucking bastard and then come here!? How dare you!"

Her pale face flushed with indignation and she stopped struggling.

"How dare I? How dare _you!" _ With a mighty pull, she freed her hands and shoved him. He didn't move an inch and angrily captured her hands again. Now furious, she refused to be deterred from releasing all her anger at his presumptuousness. _"_This has nothing to do with you! What I do in my free time is none of your fucking business-"

"YES IT IS-"

"NO IT ISN'T! Who do you think you are, accusing me of Merlin knows what, when you literally shoved your whore in my face?! What right do you have to attack me-"

"I have every right." He cut her coldly as he switched his hold on her wrists to one hand and brought the other to her face, grasping her chin and tilting it up. Hermione's heart palpitated as he stared at her with dilated pupils, his chest brushing against hers with every breathe. His cheeks were flushed with colour as he panted and pushed harder against her. The back of her head throbbed and she knew tomorrow she'd have bruises from his manhandling but she didn't give a damn at that moment.

If Draco thought, after everything, he had a right to demand anything from her... Well, he had a thing coming.

"No Malfoy, you don't. You are not my friend, you are not my father and you certainly are not my boyfriend. If I want to go on a date with Kevin, I _will_. And if I want to sleep with him, I will and you have no say in this."

The moment she finished speaking, she knew she had made a grave mistake. His eyes darken to gun metal grey and his lips pulled back in a snarl so vicious, a shiver of fear travelled down her spine.

She had expected him to shove her, shake her some more; she had expected harsh words, insults that would destroy every last shred of emotion she had for him.

Well, no one could say Draco Malfoy was a man of predictability.


	8. Part VIII

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** I'm so, so sorry I didn't update when I said I would. All I can say is my work schedule is hectic these days; hopefully now that the holiday season is over, I'll have more time to dedicate to writing.

Good news!

Only one more chapter to go! I won't give a definite day of update, God knows I'll jinx myself, but I think it will be before the week's over.

Thank you for your patience, the lovely reviews (anonymous reviewer who commented on Part VII about the abuse; please, if you can, check my tumblr or blog. I posted a short essay about your review/the issue of abuse in The Artist) and your love for the story!

_**Warning:**_ This chapter is rated **M **for a reason. Of course, as per the site's rules, it is not very explicit. Before you ask, no there wasn't a sex scene in the original piece. Not a very explicit one at least. But I'm thinking of expanding the scene for my livejournal, where all my **MA **rated chapters are archived. What do you think?

If you think this chapter is too explicit, please let me know so I can edit it. I personally think it's right up the **M** rating, but you can never be sure, so...

_**The Artist**_

_**Part VIII**_

_Soft..._

Hermione's mind blanked and she could only form one word sentences as she felt her whole body alight with desire.

Draco's kiss was hard, punishing as his free hand roughly grabbed her hip and pushed her harder against the wall, simultaneously pushing himself against her; in contrast to his kiss, his lips were soft, moist and tasted of the wine he had for dinner.

It took her exactly ten seconds and one of Draco's low groans to get over her shock and respond to his passionate onslaught. With a small frustrated moan she kissed him back, desperately trying to free her hands.

Merlin, she'd never needed to touch someone so badly in her _life!_

His hand tightening, she felt his lips stretching above hers. Was he-

The bastard was smirking!

Mentally growling at his arrogance, and still upset at his cave-man behaviour, Hermione rolled her hips in response and when he gasped, his lips parting and eyes rolling back in his head, she took his lower lip between hers and bit down... Hard.

Before she could properly enjoy her retaliation, Draco growled low in his throat, released her hands, and roughly grabbed her upper thighs, lifting her off her feet and forcing her to wrap her legs around his slim waist.

Hermione wasted no time to fulfil one of her fantasies and buried her hands in his silky locks, scrapping her nails on his scalp, making him moan appreciatively. A tortured whimper left her when he rolled his hips expertly against her, his hardness pushing at just the right spot.

Her belly muscles contracted and her knickers were soaked through with her arousal; Hermione's hands tighten on his hair, pulling his head closer to hers. Bravely, she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue. Draco greedily responded, opening his mouth and thrusting his own tongue in hers, tasting every crevice and groaning in pleasure as she sucked his tongue.

Never had she felt this kind of sexual need with any of her former partners. She felt like she would literally implode if Draco didn't do something about her aching lust _right now._

Pulling back, his eyes scanned her face with a hunger that sent her heart into overdrive.

Was it possible to _die _from wanting someone so much? At the moment, Hermione thought that yes, yes it was.

But when he raised a hand and gently traced the side of her face with his knuckles, she lost any semblance of modicum she had and growled, batting his hand away.

"No. Don't you_ dare _do this Draco Malfoy. I'm not some porcelain doll. I'm not made of china. I won't fucking break if you are rough with me. I've had it with being treated like a delicate princess. Either fuck me like you mean it, or let me go."

xxXxx

Draco froze.

Having Granger wrapped around him, flushed and panting, feeling her soaked knickers pressing against his covered erection, was something he'd been fantasising about for weeks.

Reality was even fucking better; now he knew what she tasted like, what sounds she made when she was turn on and he was pretty darn sure he was set to know what she'd feel like wrapped around his cock.

But in none of his dreams and fantasies had she said something like _that_.

He dimly recalled one of the reasons, the main one to be honest, he hadn't allow himself to pursue the feisty witch. He had been unwilling to compromise to the kind of boring, vanilla sex Granger was accustomed to and thus had avoided encouraging both their attraction to each other by being deliberately cruel.

After he lost control and kissed her though, he resigned to the fact his feelings for the temperamental ex-Gryffindor couldn't be denied any longer; and feeling her soft hands in his hair, hearing her low moans, he had readily decide to take this all the way. So he forced himself to slow down and treat her properly; the way a woman like Granger was used to be treated. The way he had been sure she'd want to be touched.

Gently, reverently.

Evidently he had been mistaken.

Dear Merlin, Draco had never been happier to be wrong in his whole life.

Breathing heavily in excitement, he bit her earlobe and smiled in masculine pride when her breathe stuttered and her hands pulled at his hair. He smirked and soothed the tender flesh with his moist tongue, his hands caressing her bare thighs as he bunched her skirt around her hips, his fingers coming dangerously close to the edge of her knickers.

He couldn't wait to see them. And her with nothing at all, sprawled on his bed. But first...

"Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you brought on your self." He promised with a wicked laugh, harshly thrusting his hips, making her bit her lower lip. "You do realise, I have to punish you for going out with that fuck. You've been a naughty girl, Granger, haven't you?"

Her breathing harsh, he felt her smile against his shoulder. When she pulled her head back to look at him, her eyes were flashing challengingly and her smirk rivaled his own.

"This was our second date. If things had gone according to my plan, Kevin would have been in my bed right about now."

A red, hot blaze blinded him and he _**roared**_. He shoved a hand in her thick curls and ripped off her diamante hair clip, ignoring her yelp of pain as her luxurious hair cascaded down her back. Grabbing a fistful of brown curls, he pulled until her throat was bare to him and he attacked the soft skin beneath her ear with abandon, nipping, licking and sucking.

"You'll pay for this, Granger." He groaned as she writhed against him. "No one... You'll have no one else but me in your bed,_ do you understand_?"

Okay, so he was -apparently- ready for a commitment.

Not what he expected when he attacked her, but the thought of her with anyone else drove him mad. He'd tie her to his bed if he had to until she accepted the fact, _she was __**his.**_

Hermione whined softly when he lowered his head, leaving a burning trail of kisses and nips down her throat to her exposed collarbone, her lower body rubbing against his.

"S-same, _uh_, go- oh God!, goes f- for, please don't stop!, you, MALFOY!" She screamed when he shoved the bodice aside, exposing her breast -the cut of the dress simply didn't allow for a bra!, and roughly bit her nipple.

Almost incoherent, Draco mumbled his acquiesce, desperate to get inside her. Everything else, they'd deal with later.

Much, much later.

xxXxx

Draco laid awake, his head resting on his palm as he carefully studied Granger's nude figure; his expensive Egyptian cotton sheets were shoved to the bottom of the bed as she laid on his enormous bed, peacefully sleeping. His other hand skimmed the satiny skin of her back, trailing her spine as his eyes stared at the marks he left on her beautiful body.

Her shoulder carried a bite mark from when he came and bit her hard; her hips, thighs and delectable bum were bruised where he'd grabbed her and he knew if she turned, her neck and breasts would be covered in love bites.

Draco was a possessive man, and he wanted the world to know she was his_._ Surprising even himself, he had made his intentions very clear during their vigorous love making -although what they did could hardly be described as love making. He had practically ravished her on that damn chaise and she had loved every second of it, letting him know her pleasure with delighted screams and pleads for more- and made sure she understood what this meant. He was the only man she was allowed to have in her bed.

Seeing her with that tosser had enraged him beyond reason. He'd never had such an irrational reaction and it took him awhile to realise where it stemmed from.

Jealously.

So, to ensure nothing like that occurred again, Granger simply had to accept she belonged to him. Her only condition had been he'd be hers as well. Recalling how she felt when he'd finally, _finally, _slid into her -velvety, hot, liquid perfection- he didn't regret agreeing to her demand.

He shivered when he recalled her responses. Granger was a _very _vocal lover; her moans and whimpers music to his ears, he had been even more aroused when he discovered she loved dirty talk and was very fond of experimentation.

The memory of her back arching as she came, her face flushed, eyes tightly shut and mouth open in ecstasy, a scream retching out of her throat with his final thrust, had his flaccid member slowly rising to attention.

His touch became heavier, his breathe deeper as he leaned in and trailed butterfly kisses on every inch of exposed skin.

Grinning madly, he carefully rolled her to her back, crawling down her body.

He was right. She was covered in his marks.

He smirked as he focused on her silken thighs, gently parting them.

Judging from her lack of satisfactory sexual experiences, Granger was bound to love this wake up call, was his last thought before licking his lips and diving straight in.

xxXxx

Hermione woke up alone, one arm outstretched and the sheets wrapped around her naked body.

She was sore and aching but she had never felt more sated in her life. Draco had been rough and glorious last night and twice more in the morning hours. Her encouraging cries had been met with male groans of approval as he rewarded her willingness with orgasm after orgasm.

Her hand touched cold sheets and for a moment a shiver of insecurity shook her body; was she one of those women? Was she one of Draco Malfoy's famous one night stands?

Before hurt and panic could begin settling in her heart, memories of Malfoy's possessive words during their couplings rung in her mind and made her relax. The man had been almost frantic, grabbing fistfuls of her hair and demanding she acquiesced to his ownership over her body.

At some point they'd have to talk about what that meant. No matter how great he was in the sack, Hermione couldn't abide in a sexual, no feelings involved, relationship.

Draco had made it quite clear he wanted them to be exclusive sexual partners. But what about the other aspects of a relationship?

Hermione was no fool; she didn't expect the usual boyfriend-girlfriend charade. But she was not going to be his fuck buddy.

At this point in her life, Hermione had to consider the future.

And a future with Draco hadn't be part of her plans.

Yet it was one possibility she wanted to explore and was anxious to know if he did too.

With a deep groan, she sat up and looked around.

No sign of him.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, the brunette witch stood up, secured the sheet around her body and went in search of Draco.

She had a feeling where she'd find him.


End file.
